Fascination
by maevestrom
Summary: "Why do I never tire of you, Cherche? You are so simple... yet so complex."


You keep your hands to yourself, away from the tree, as to avoid interfering. You're simply an observer, and your only interest is observing the ladybug hugging the bark of the base of the tree perfectly vertically. You don't want to disrupt it, spook it away with your present- you're barely moving. You're simply an observer- what privilege have you to presume any further involvement?

You hear your companion rustle, and nearly jump out of your skin, so quiet were the surroundings. Clearly, she's noticed you, as she's giggling like mad, trying her damndest to keep it under her breath. It's only by the grace of the Gods that the ladybug hasn't left the tree- as your observations have shown, insects as a class tend to be flighty, and you could have _sworn_ you had told her such was the case when you invited her.

You realize you've been glaring at her when she stops laughing and looks at you as though you unleashed a veritable volley of spells in her direction- but she isn't entirely terrified by the idea as much as surprised. You realize that, yes, you have been tense since she joined you in these observations- even though you eventually stopped reluctantly steeling yourself for her to ask and in turn asked _her_ \- and that can certainly alarm people who are not used to it. You'd thought she would be used to it by now, but perhaps you confuse what your internalize and externalize.

You notice her smile, even despite herself. It acknowledges your frustrations, it understands them, but it does not apologize. She doesn't apologize. She doesn't set out to inconvenience or worry others, but far be it for her to acknowledge her own errors that impede your path, like her pink hair getting in your eyes and enveloping you in nothing but soft, inelegant lavender…

You think that you have a grasp of what you internalize at this moment, as it is very much _that_.

You sit with your hat in your lap, not a single auburn hair out of place- entirely due to intention. If you demand order and organization in your life, you owe it to yourself and the universe to apply the same standards to yourself. Gods, not like her. By a normal human's standards, she is fine. Acceptable, even. But you've been aware for many a year that you are not a normal human being. Your sense of observation and innate curiosity has made you stand out from the moment you took consciousness.

So why is it that you set out to observe the habits of a ladybug but have been unaware of those displayed nearly the entire time you have been there?

You sigh and run a hand over your face, turning back to the insect. You try and focus once more, but it's forced by this point. It's not natural, and that's going to be an impediment if all you can think is that you have to work hard to process the results you want, and not focus on how her legs rest against you as she sits back, and against yourself, you notice.

You sigh. Perhaps today isn't your day in terms of observation. You mind may just be too clouded, and by the gods, you wonder what interest there even is in this subject.

"Something the matter, my dear?"

She doesn't turn to face you, content to leave her inquiry floating on its own (that and the pet name that you know she uses quite liberally but still feels specific- or perhaps you would like to think so). You could answer with many things, but in a rare showing, you are not certain you could or should share then with another being, especially _her_.

"My ability to focus on this day…" you start, damnable words failing you. Still, you manage to piece them together in a passably eloquent fashion. "I've had days of more clarity. I've not been able to comprehend my observations with the vigor I usually do."

She nods. "Intriguing."

"Quite."

With another sigh, you reach for your hat in a preparation to exit the premises. However, as you do so, the ladybug is spooked at last and flies away. As it does, you set your hat on your legs, watching the speck leave your eyesight in record time.

"Fascinating," you say, though you aren't sure why.

She groans, disappointed in jest. "Awww. It was cute."

 _You are cute_ are the first words that spring into your head. The prospect of dissecting why they would be your first thought terrifies you on concept alone, so you quickly force your attention onto some hypothesis regarding the bug.

"While it was willing and able to stay through any conversations and disruptions we may have _posed_..."

You're deliberately pointed, and she giggles again. "I'll say."

You try very hard not to blush. When you are certain you failed, you try and distract. "Regardless, it stayed stagnant until an object- in this case, my hat- caused it to flinch and vacate in a panic. Perhaps the conclusion is that it can tolerate any actions from us intruders until we appear to directly interfere with its safety."

You can tell she's smiling just from presence alone. "If we don't _bug_ it," she says, extra emphasis on the pun "it won't _bug_ us."

You nod.

"Fascinating."

You smile at her usage of a word that has become a commoner in your vocabulary. "Truly?"

She nods. If she has tired of you posing such an obvious inquiry, she hasn't said so. In truth, you're amazed after so many months spending so much time with you, that she's not tired of you. You were stunned enough to ask "truly?" the first time she claimed intrigue and interest in the way you spoke, and ever since, you are still amazed that she hasn't found you tedious. So many others have, yet she has not- and you are aware of how blessed you are.

So unawares of your body you have become lately- more than usual- that you haven't noticed until now that your hands have entangled with hers as you both look at the space where the ladybug once was. You steal a glance at her, then turn away when you realize she was observing your reaction as well. You hear her giggle, content with the data she discovered, and feel the presence of your eyes turn from your flushing cheek.

You know you should probably tear your hands from hers and apologize for imposing in your absent-mindedness. You do not.

"In truth…" you find yourself saying. She turns back towards you. It takes you a second to deduce that saying something to her will be fruitful, even though you have no confidence in the result one way or another.

"I find you fascinating as well."

You feel her pull herself onto her knees. You worry you may have scared her away, but as she continues to grasp your hand, you realize that you've yet to alienate her- in the months you've spent wrapped in your own head as her body has steadily inched closer to yours, that much as not changed.

She doesn't say anything verbally, but her body language urges you continue, to compel her closer. All you can think, all that muddles your thoughts in a frustrating, inviting manner, is that you would welcome her closer.

"You are... so simple, yet so complex."

The words are graceless and fall where they stand with a thud, but apparently a loss of inhibition was the correct move. She stands closer to you, face to face, skin to skin, hands connected to hands. You aren't sure if you feel her heart beat at a rapid pace through your hands, or if you're obfuscating your own.

"I'll take it." Her breath catches as she replies, to your intrigue.

Perhaps a bit of both.

Her messy pink hair brushes your perfect auburn hair, and from the corner of your eye, you can see it. You smile.

Perhaps the release of inhibitions can be profitable in the right situations.


End file.
